Lucca
by Wind Lane
Summary: She never cared what anyone else thought about her before, she wasn't going to care what they thought about him now.


(A/N) Bit of a downer, that's just the way things go with this type of subject matter.

Disclaimer – There's nothing funny about rectal trauma. Except for the word 'rectal'. When you snigger reading that word, that's the twelve-year-old part of you that still needs to grow up. Don't let it. (Something about this has got to have parallels to me not owning the Teen Titans, but I can't for the life of me imagine what they might be.)

Lucca

She'd thought she was being funny, choosing the name Lucca when she finally broke away from her group of friends to try and have a normal life. But now, it was like she was asking for her life to become the song.

Looking from the outside she had always thought women who let guys bully them were weak. Low self-esteem, poor self-image, daddy issues, it all came out as weakness to her. Now, from the inside, she thought about it differently.

He really wasn't mean, he was just…passionate. It was his passion that drew her to him in the first place. He'd been so willing to make a fool of himself for her. He'd climbed a telephone poll to yell out to the neighborhood when she finally said yes to a date.

But sometimes his passion got out of hand. He'd be feeling penned in with no release for all that energy and she'd say something to tease him at the wrong time. He always did his best to say he was sorry. His apologies were wonderful. After a slipup, he'd finally have some place to put everything – his apology to her.

And he was always on his best behavior afterwards. How could she not believe him when he said he hadn't meant it; that she was his everything?

Lately though…he'd had less release and more need for apologies than normal. And he wasn't really apologizing anymore. What had she done? Things would get back to the way they were once he was out of this funk he was in.

And then there were the neighbors. She could always feel them staring, judging, trying to find some nice way of saying she didn't know what she was doing. They were idiots. Let them shake their heads or watch her through the curtains; they didn't know at all what he was really like. They only saw his downs, never his ups.

She'd been around enough people like them to know what they really wanted – a good seat. They were spectators hoping to see a fight; trying to get their jollies off by acting like the concerned Mr. and Mrs. Nextdoor. They didn't want to help her; they wanted to look good by taking him away from her.

They couldn't have him. They weren't there when he'd told her in such beautiful ways how much he loved her. She doubted they ever loved anything. She could just sense it about them.

They pretended to be the happy couple. Just another way they were trying to pretend they were better than everybody else. And the way they looked at him! She was getting mad about it again.

Oh, but at last he was finally home! Maybe he'd gotten that job he was so excited about. It'd be nice to see him happy about having work again.

Instead it was the other him; the one she had to watch herself around. He'd been to the bar; she guess he didn't get the job.

She'd been around him long enough to know how to handle him when he was drunk. Stay quiet, keep your head down, don't hide from him – an easy routine. He'd sober up and by tomorrow morning at the latest they'd be back to talking and laughing and she could just read while she waited for him.

Books had always been her solace. Her crazy former life had needed lots of them. She didn't read as much as she used to, he liked talking to her and didn't like that they separated them from each other, but she still had some real gems in her meager collection. She decided on reading that first edition of Stevenson's she'd bought herself as a birthday present. She'd keep the book in her lap to avoid the accusations that she was trying to block him out.

It all started to go pear-shaped when she'd coughed. He didn't like the sudden disruption of the quiet she'd built. He started saying she was claiming superiority again. He started yelling.

The worst times weren't when he took every opportunity he could find to dig into her, they were when she gave anything other than fear and apologies as a response. She supposed that in his mind she was in the wrong because of how much she reminded him of his shortcomings because she had seen them all.

She really wished he wouldn't get so upset about them, couldn't he see how little they mattered to her? Shouldn't that be all that really matters?

She was groggy as she picked herself up off the ground. She shouldn't have said it out loud. Her head was ringing from the double impact of his hand followed by the floor. From through the angry buzzing she could hear him still shouting. He was really working himself up this time.

The coffee table that broke her second fall seemed as acceptable place as any to collapse on. Her head was spinning too fast to really come up with any plan other than to stay still and quiet, but her sobs wouldn't stop and they were upsetting him.

When she felt him picking her up she'd hoped it was to start his apology, but instead she found her head going fuzzier as he slammed her into a wall. She could vaguely feel the world fading away and realized that he was choking her.

By the time she'd decided that fighting back or screaming would be a good idea she was already blacking out. It was only at the periphery of conscious thought that she saw the door explode inward.

The desperate ragged breaths that she was finally able to greedily draw in let her know that he'd let her go, but the hand that touched her back as she coughed and gasped was small and cold. She turned her head to catch a glimpse of her neighbors.

The husband of the duo was holding down her boyfriend as he struggled and cursed. He started to wiggle free and threw a kick before the husband suddenly swelled into a gorilla and pinned him down. He'd also turned green, but some part of her found it all easy to accept.

That cold, small hand was still on her back. The coldness was oddly soothing and she found her throat feeling better much faster than she'd have thought possible. The small hand moved and the coldness of it went away.

The wife was telling her to get up, telling her she was safe, telling her the police were already on their way. Rather than getting up she violently vomited and found herself sobbing again without fully understanding why.

She wasn't really sure when the police had arrived, but the wife was holding her and whispering in her ear. It wasn't comforting, but she wasn't going to let go when it felt like letting go meant something much worse than just removing herself from the strange woman's embrace. The grey skin was off-putting, but she kept stroking her hair and that was enough.

The car ride didn't make sense. She could remember her neighbors being there through all of it, but she couldn't remember getting in or even the drive itself.

As the words "battered women's shelter" floated in she almost went back to the car, but the wife was talking to her again. Words like "courage", "help" and "safe" faded in and out, but the intensity of the shorter woman's eyes told her exactly how much she'd been lying to herself and just how close those lies had gotten her to something permanent.

They followed her in as she made her way up the steps, going as slowly as she could, and even through all the pain, grief, bitterness, and sadness she couldn't stop thinking about how stupid she'd been, especially with the name she'd chosen for herself.

She would hate that song forever.

(A/N) So... yeah. It's a heavy subject matter, doesn't have a happy ending really, and is only just barely about the Teen Titans at all, but it's something that I started and wanted to finish. For anybody who's known someone who's been in an abusive relationship they'll understand the insane frustration it is watching those people justify their abuser's behavior. I have sisters that have been abused and the only thing that's prevented me from showing up on the scumbag's doorstep with a hockey stick is that they won't let me. They say that the scumbag isn't worth the loss of my freedom, but they don't quite understand that what I'm saying isn't that the metering of punishment is worth it, I'm saying that their protection and peace of mind is.

If you know someone in a situation like this - don't let them decide when they get help. It's better that you ruin a friendship and they get moved into a safe place than to remain close friends with someone who's significant other is steadily devaluing their life.


End file.
